Filthy Chainsaw Murder Party
by SuperMegaFoxyAwesomeHot
Summary: Blaine shows up early for Monday night potluck dinner to find that Santana has somehow gotten Kurt to watch a horror movie with her. Cuddles and Santana insults ensue.


**I gave trufflemores some options for me to write, and she picked this one. Also, title really has no bearing on the rest of the fic, it just sounds snappy.**

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The sound of screams coming from the loft actually doesn't phase Blaine too much as he jogs up the stairs, purposely early to Monday night potluck in the hopes that he and Kurt can have a little alone time before the loft fills with their exuberant friends and roommates. He's used to Santana and Rachel getting into semi-daily screeching fights about whatever trivial offense one of them supposedly committed, so he figures Rachel's harping on about Santana drinking her fancy herbal tea again or Santana's threatening to cut Rachel for using the last of her shampoo.

He finds out that's not actually the case when he gets to the door.

When he slides the loft's heavy metal door open, he finds that the screams are emitting from the TV as Kurt and Santana watch something that's probably called _Filthy Chainsaw Murder Party _if what he can see onscreen is any indication. He looks away quickly before any of the images can sink too far into his mind and scar him forever, calling out a cheerful, "Hey, guys!"

"'Sup, short stack?" Santana responds leisurely, not looking away from the TV. Kurt doesn't move at all, eyes fixed raptly at the movie and wide with terror.

"Kurt, baby?" Blaine asks quietly once he's a bit closer. "You okay?" Kurt's only response is a prolonged whimpering noise that snaps Blaine's heart like a twig.

"He's been unresponsive since about the third decapitation," Santana says, cavalier as always. "I'm just waiting for him to flip the coffee table in horror as he runs and hides in your bedroom like the delicate little flower he is."

Blaine shoots Santana an impressively withering glare. "Santana. Do you remember the last time you made Kurt watch one of these movies with you and he made you stay up til three in the morning ghost-proofing the loft?"

"That's why I waited for you to move to town before doing this again, dipshit," Santana says. "I figured you'd spend the night and whisper sweet gay rainbow dreams in his ear to keep him from disturbing my beauty sleep."

A high pitched whine from Kurt keeps Blaine from retorting, much as he'd like to. "Baby. Hey, c'mere," he says, kneeling down in front of Kurt and gathering him to his chest. Kurt's stiff, tense with fear, but he slowly relaxes into Blaine's embrace, nuzzling his face into Blaine's shoulder and the soft cardigan he's wearing. "Shhhh, Kurt, sweetheart. It's just a movie."

"Five girls were murdered before the opening credits even finished, Blaine!" Kurt says shrilly, muffled into Blaine's neck. "I'm never going to be able to help Dad cut down our Christmas tree ever again."

Blaine manages to choke back his giggles before Kurt hears and gets even more upset, but Santana lets out a loud cackle at that. "For someone with such a huge package, your balls are tinier than a Ken doll's, Porcelain."

"Santana, so help me God, I'll put Nair in your shampoo," Blaine says, hitting the end of his rope. "Stop antagonizing my fiance! Also, how do you even know how big he is?" he sputters after a moment.

"I'm a lesbian, not blind," Santana says, shrugging. "Your elfin prince of a boyfriend wears the world's tightest jeans and I am forced to contemplate how big his junk is when I see him walk around in them. It helps me digest my breakfast."

Blaine blinks at that, not sure if there's a good response to that kind of statement even after knowing Santana for years. "O...kay," he finally says. "I'm just gonna go take my fiance to bed and hope I forget I ever heard you say that."

"Wanky." Blaine ignores that in favor of coaxing Kurt to stand up and leave.

"Hey, Kurt, love. Can you stand up with me? You don't have to move your head, just your legs." He starts pushing himself up to his feet, Kurt thankfully following easily. He stubbornly leaves his head tucked into Blaine's neck, prompting Blaine to start petting his hair as he walks them carefully into Kurt's bedroom. Blaine's grateful that the privacy curtain muffles the sound slightly once it's shut behind them.

"Why do I let Santana talk me into these things?" Kurt asks once they're settled on the bed, cuddled up face-to-face with Kurt's head on Blaine's shoulder.

"I think she actually knows how to hypnotize people and force them to do her bidding," Blaine says, stroking down Kurt's back. "That's probably what she learned when she was off on Lesbos with Britt."

"You are spending _way _too much time with Sam," Kurt says with a snort of laughter. "Did you read that in one of your Star Wars stories?"

"No," Blaine pouts. "It was actually an X-Men story." He can't keep the petulance out of his voice, much to his chagrin. Kurt laughs more.

"I'm sorry I mixed up your fictional universes," he apologizes, entirely insincere. "I'm sure the wrath of Comic-Con nerds everywhere will rain down on me soon enough."

"Weren't you traumatized a second ago?" Blaine asks, full of mock hurt. "Shouldn't that keep you from making fun of me?"

"Teasing you is making me feel better, B," Kurt pouts, batting his eyes. "Are you really going to begrudge me my coping mechanisms?" Blaine groans and leans in for a kiss that quickly becomes heated.

"Way to guilt trip me into kissing you, Kurt," he says once they break for air. "Or is that just another one of your coping mechanisms?"

"Give the man a prize," Kurt says like an old-school game show announcer.

"I can think of a good one," Blaine says, capturing Kurt's lips in another kiss.

They manage to get in a decent make-out session before potluck night, much to Blaine's delight.


End file.
